Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Entropy's a Bitch
For those of you who still don't quite understand why I named my blog what I named it, Michael Barrish will explain it to you. No, I am not acquainted with Michael Barrish. And, no, to the best of my knowledge, Michael Barrish is not acquainted with me. (The real history of this blog's name actually goes back to my sophomore year in the English department at IU, but that's a much longer story for a much longer post at a much later date. Actually, the story isn't that long and won't require an altogether lengthy post, but I just don't have the time to go into it at the moment.)
Hydrate Yourself...With Water!
John Darnielle made me laugh out loud this morning.
In other Mountain Goats news, last night I found the old issue of the The Believer that he was interviewed in (July '04, which also features an interview with Slavoj Žižek--how can you not love a magazine that successfully juxtaposes a pair of interviews like that!). He's interviewed by Daniel Handler (known to many, including myself, as Lemony Snicket), and, between the two of them, there's so much warmth and humor and fascination with the oddities of the human condition in the exchange that the pages fairly radiate. Check it out if you have the means.
Chris Walla interviews Sarah Vowell on Salon this morning. It's like the journalistic equivalent of your two favorite friends from two separate social groups finally meeting and hitting it off and holding hands kind of shyly and embarrassedly while they're walking down the street, wearing slightly battered hoodies and soft, faded jeans. Love it.
Now that I finally got around to downloading (legally! from iTunes!) The Mysterious Production of Eggs, I am so, so disappointed in myself that I blew off Andrew Bird's CD release show at the Metro earlier this month. I'm, obviously, still digesting the album, but I bet he's fucking phenomenal live. I have a deep, irrational aversion to the sound of people whistling, so obviously that's a bit of a stumbling block for me in some of his tunes, but he uses his many musical gifts so tastefully and so sparingly that there's plenty of other stuff for me to relish.
In other Mountain Goats news, last night I found the old issue of the The Believer that he was interviewed in (July '04, which also features an interview with Slavoj Žižek--how can you not love a magazine that successfully juxtaposes a pair of interviews like that!). He's interviewed by Daniel Handler (known to many, including myself, as Lemony Snicket), and, between the two of them, there's so much warmth and humor and fascination with the oddities of the human condition in the exchange that the pages fairly radiate. Check it out if you have the means.
Chris Walla interviews Sarah Vowell on Salon this morning. It's like the journalistic equivalent of your two favorite friends from two separate social groups finally meeting and hitting it off and holding hands kind of shyly and embarrassedly while they're walking down the street, wearing slightly battered hoodies and soft, faded jeans. Love it.
Now that I finally got around to downloading (legally! from iTunes!) The Mysterious Production of Eggs, I am so, so disappointed in myself that I blew off Andrew Bird's CD release show at the Metro earlier this month. I'm, obviously, still digesting the album, but I bet he's fucking phenomenal live. I have a deep, irrational aversion to the sound of people whistling, so obviously that's a bit of a stumbling block for me in some of his tunes, but he uses his many musical gifts so tastefully and so sparingly that there's plenty of other stuff for me to relish.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Flickr
Once you figure out how to rock the functionality of Flickr, it becomes much more enjoyable to play with.
Inspired by Bushman's photo essay from Puerto Rico, I spent some time dicking around online and organizing the random stuff I'd thrown in there. The new "sets" function is enormously sexy, and I was able to group together snaps of the apartment (back when it was still new to me) and reorganize B&K's wedding album from last November. I might have gone a little overboard with the notes feature, but such is my wont. That feature just seems made for me to abuse!
Inspired by Bushman's photo essay from Puerto Rico, I spent some time dicking around online and organizing the random stuff I'd thrown in there. The new "sets" function is enormously sexy, and I was able to group together snaps of the apartment (back when it was still new to me) and reorganize B&K's wedding album from last November. I might have gone a little overboard with the notes feature, but such is my wont. That feature just seems made for me to abuse!
Friday, April 22, 2005
Yo La Tengo, Etc.
Though I continue to wish that more of the show meant more to me than it did (just because I wasn't previously familiar with the band), seeing Yo La Tengo last night was still a blast. Lots of loud, lots of soft, better lights than I've seen during a concert in ages, and a hilarious mixed-bag of a crowd. (The quote of the evening that best summed it up--thanks, DS--was, "I think they thought it was 'Yo La Dave Matthews.'") The band came out for a first "gimme" encore (like ya do), then were actually lured back out two more times for two actual encores, which was a refreshing thing to see from any band. And, ain't nothin' hotter than a chick drummer.
Any other fans of Kanye's "Jesus Walks" in the house? This McSweeney's list really made me laugh, mostly because I think the lyrics it's riffing on are so brilliantly hilarious in the first place.
Is "awesomest" a word? If so, I nominate this as the awesomest thing I've seen all week: the Mr. T. rubber duck (link via You Can't Make It Up).
Though I don't know the Mountain Goats' music all that well, I've been dipping into John Darnielle's blog periodically during the past week or so. I'm fascinated by his fascination with thrash/death metal. I don't remember which issue of The Believer he was interviewed in, but I remember reading his description of some band that's exclusively focused on writing anti-Christianity songs, and his appreciation of the twisted purity in it. I just love hearing people talk about the minutia of some weird little corner of a genre that they're fixated on, because it means they just don't give a damn if anybody else is interested in it and are consequently free to roam around in the parts of it that fire their imagination and speak to a part of their soul that's underserved by "acceptable" pop culture (either mainstream or indie). It also reminds me of the way I talk about movies like The Wisdom of Crocodiles and Birthday Girl, movies I've lumped together in a category of my own invention--that is, a kind of deeply flawed Eurotrash erotic thriller that becomes captivating and almost hypnotically beautiful precisely because of its failure to cohere as anything resembling an actual movie. Anyway, "Last Plane to Jakarta" is a fine read, and I guess the Mountain Goats have a new CD out that's supposed to be great.
Any other fans of Kanye's "Jesus Walks" in the house? This McSweeney's list really made me laugh, mostly because I think the lyrics it's riffing on are so brilliantly hilarious in the first place.
Is "awesomest" a word? If so, I nominate this as the awesomest thing I've seen all week: the Mr. T. rubber duck (link via You Can't Make It Up).
Though I don't know the Mountain Goats' music all that well, I've been dipping into John Darnielle's blog periodically during the past week or so. I'm fascinated by his fascination with thrash/death metal. I don't remember which issue of The Believer he was interviewed in, but I remember reading his description of some band that's exclusively focused on writing anti-Christianity songs, and his appreciation of the twisted purity in it. I just love hearing people talk about the minutia of some weird little corner of a genre that they're fixated on, because it means they just don't give a damn if anybody else is interested in it and are consequently free to roam around in the parts of it that fire their imagination and speak to a part of their soul that's underserved by "acceptable" pop culture (either mainstream or indie). It also reminds me of the way I talk about movies like The Wisdom of Crocodiles and Birthday Girl, movies I've lumped together in a category of my own invention--that is, a kind of deeply flawed Eurotrash erotic thriller that becomes captivating and almost hypnotically beautiful precisely because of its failure to cohere as anything resembling an actual movie. Anyway, "Last Plane to Jakarta" is a fine read, and I guess the Mountain Goats have a new CD out that's supposed to be great.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Friday, April 15, 2005
The Shins
As much as I instinctively bristle at all the "this song will change your life" bullshit fandom that was birthed from the precious loins of Garden State, there is something legitimately magical about the Shins. I think Better Propaganda's short bio puts it best, describing them as keepers of the goddess Gaia's rings of power representing Earth, Fire, Wind, Water, and Heart. Um, and they also rock mightily.
Much like Ted Leo, James Mercer has one of those voices that really thrives during a live performance. His diction isn't quite as mushy and you just feel a little more viscerally how powerful his range is. His upper register is clean, clear, and stunning. He was also elusive and un-chatty during last night's show (which I chose to interpret as his being shy and artistically aloof—"everything I have to say I can say through my music"—rather than standoffish or lacking in good concert etiquette), letting keyboardist/guitarist Marty Crandall step up (literally) front and center. Drummer Jesse Sandoval is appealingly effortless behind the set. Listening to Oh, Inverted World and Chutes Too Narrow all week, I found myself focusing on the impeccable percussion and imagining a flamboyant indie rock showman as the author of those spinal-cord-liquifying beats (a la Sam Fogarino of Interpol). Instead, Sandoval was cool, cool, cool—letting the rhythm shoot from his wrists without much intervention from the rest of his body, yet not sacrificing an ounce of excitement.
The band as a whole seemed maybe a bit cold at the start of the show, but then warmed throughout the set, as they let their (slightly awed) appreciation for the size of the venue and the size of the crowd energize them. They extended the instrumental endings of a few tunes (without descending into guitar wankery), and played a handful of non-album cuts. (Which will perhaps appear on the third album they're promising to write and record after they finish this tour???) Though they came back out for a three or four song encore, their songs are so good and so diamond-sharp—so consistently—there wasn't really that sense of "and now we will really rock out" that encores often yield (like, say, when the Decemberists pull out "The Tain"). They just played a few of the songs that they hadn't gotten around to in the set proper, and finished with, I think, "Gone for Good." Which might have felt like an anticlimax if, like I said, all the previous stuff hadn't been of the exact same (high) caliber.
I found openers The Brunettes adorable, hook-laden, and irresistible, if more than a bit twee, while some folks without hearts took exception to the profusion of hand-claps and finger-snaps in their songs. (For the record, I am of the mind that there can never be too many hand-claps in a pop song!)
One of the more fascinating aspects of last night's show had nothing to do with anything that was happening on stage. There was a collection of people standing in front of me I couldn't take my eyes off. (Well, I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to; they were kind of unavoidably in my line of sight.) There was a slightly pudgy, geeky, tech-support looking guy with a quiet, normal looking girl I'm assuming was his girlfriend on his left. To his right were two girls who, I can only imagine, actually thought they were coming to an Aerosmith show and ended up at the Congress Theater sheerly by chance. Dressed in yards of glitter and sparkles and leftover Mardi Gras beads, wasted out of their gourds, they spent most of the show dancing wildly, doing outlandish pantomime routines, waving their arms around (nearly burning me with their lit cigarettes a couple of times), and complaining loudly that, "NO ONE ELSE IS MOVING! IT'S KIND OF CREEPING ME OUT!" When they weren't doing that, they were teasing Mr. Tech Support with a kind of icy, biting edge that I'm sure instantly flashed him back to the interactions he probably had with other pretty, mean girls throughout middle and high school. I couldn't tell if they all knew each other and had come to the concert together or if they just happened to end up in the same row. It was alternately transfixing, disgusting, depressing, and hilarious to watch.
And, another excellent print to add to the burgeoning collection.
Much like Ted Leo, James Mercer has one of those voices that really thrives during a live performance. His diction isn't quite as mushy and you just feel a little more viscerally how powerful his range is. His upper register is clean, clear, and stunning. He was also elusive and un-chatty during last night's show (which I chose to interpret as his being shy and artistically aloof—"everything I have to say I can say through my music"—rather than standoffish or lacking in good concert etiquette), letting keyboardist/guitarist Marty Crandall step up (literally) front and center. Drummer Jesse Sandoval is appealingly effortless behind the set. Listening to Oh, Inverted World and Chutes Too Narrow all week, I found myself focusing on the impeccable percussion and imagining a flamboyant indie rock showman as the author of those spinal-cord-liquifying beats (a la Sam Fogarino of Interpol). Instead, Sandoval was cool, cool, cool—letting the rhythm shoot from his wrists without much intervention from the rest of his body, yet not sacrificing an ounce of excitement.
The band as a whole seemed maybe a bit cold at the start of the show, but then warmed throughout the set, as they let their (slightly awed) appreciation for the size of the venue and the size of the crowd energize them. They extended the instrumental endings of a few tunes (without descending into guitar wankery), and played a handful of non-album cuts. (Which will perhaps appear on the third album they're promising to write and record after they finish this tour???) Though they came back out for a three or four song encore, their songs are so good and so diamond-sharp—so consistently—there wasn't really that sense of "and now we will really rock out" that encores often yield (like, say, when the Decemberists pull out "The Tain"). They just played a few of the songs that they hadn't gotten around to in the set proper, and finished with, I think, "Gone for Good." Which might have felt like an anticlimax if, like I said, all the previous stuff hadn't been of the exact same (high) caliber.
I found openers The Brunettes adorable, hook-laden, and irresistible, if more than a bit twee, while some folks without hearts took exception to the profusion of hand-claps and finger-snaps in their songs. (For the record, I am of the mind that there can never be too many hand-claps in a pop song!)
One of the more fascinating aspects of last night's show had nothing to do with anything that was happening on stage. There was a collection of people standing in front of me I couldn't take my eyes off. (Well, I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to; they were kind of unavoidably in my line of sight.) There was a slightly pudgy, geeky, tech-support looking guy with a quiet, normal looking girl I'm assuming was his girlfriend on his left. To his right were two girls who, I can only imagine, actually thought they were coming to an Aerosmith show and ended up at the Congress Theater sheerly by chance. Dressed in yards of glitter and sparkles and leftover Mardi Gras beads, wasted out of their gourds, they spent most of the show dancing wildly, doing outlandish pantomime routines, waving their arms around (nearly burning me with their lit cigarettes a couple of times), and complaining loudly that, "NO ONE ELSE IS MOVING! IT'S KIND OF CREEPING ME OUT!" When they weren't doing that, they were teasing Mr. Tech Support with a kind of icy, biting edge that I'm sure instantly flashed him back to the interactions he probably had with other pretty, mean girls throughout middle and high school. I couldn't tell if they all knew each other and had come to the concert together or if they just happened to end up in the same row. It was alternately transfixing, disgusting, depressing, and hilarious to watch.
And, another excellent print to add to the burgeoning collection.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Quickly
This isn't a lightbulb-above-the-head inducing essay by any stretch, but I'm glad it says what it says: that the boundaries between the roles and functions of critic, artist, and fan are becoming increasingly blurry and irrelevant.
Judy Garland's famous blue gingham dress from The Wizard of Oz is being auctioned by Bonhams & Butterfields in London.
Death Cab are going (adorably) out of their minds in rural Massachusetts prepping their new album (and major-label debut), Plans. (Link via, where else, Pitchfork.) [EDIT: Giddy and I were also wondering if the Grinnellians had anything to do with the naming of this album. . . .]
The Rabbit never fails to crack my shit up. I gotta get me one of those childless whore t-shirts.
Has anybody seen, or otherwise heard from, John Roderick lately? I'm having a serious Long Winters jones these days.
Is there anyone left on planet earth who doesn't have a Gmail account but wants one? I was able to palm one invite off on a friend recently (OK, at his request, but still), and that successful transaction reawoke in me the burning desire to GET THE FUCK RID OF my other forty-nine invites. Any takers?
EDIT: Right after I posted this entry, I, gleefully, discovered some more yummy Decemberists/Colin Meloy goodness: an interview in The Onion A.V. Club's "The New What's Next Music Issue." Accusations of pathetic obsession will be dismissed with a wave of my restraining order.
Judy Garland's famous blue gingham dress from The Wizard of Oz is being auctioned by Bonhams & Butterfields in London.
Death Cab are going (adorably) out of their minds in rural Massachusetts prepping their new album (and major-label debut), Plans. (Link via, where else, Pitchfork.) [EDIT: Giddy and I were also wondering if the Grinnellians had anything to do with the naming of this album. . . .]
The Rabbit never fails to crack my shit up. I gotta get me one of those childless whore t-shirts.
Has anybody seen, or otherwise heard from, John Roderick lately? I'm having a serious Long Winters jones these days.
Is there anyone left on planet earth who doesn't have a Gmail account but wants one? I was able to palm one invite off on a friend recently (OK, at his request, but still), and that successful transaction reawoke in me the burning desire to GET THE FUCK RID OF my other forty-nine invites. Any takers?
EDIT: Right after I posted this entry, I, gleefully, discovered some more yummy Decemberists/Colin Meloy goodness: an interview in The Onion A.V. Club's "The New What's Next Music Issue." Accusations of pathetic obsession will be dismissed with a wave of my restraining order.
Friday, April 08, 2005
The Decemberists Rock Kansas City (Um, Chicago)
Don't really have anything terribly clever to say about the Decemberists show last night, other than restating the simple fact that I love them and am so happy to be alive and in my concert-attending mid-twenties while they're out doing their thing, which they do better than pretty much anyone else.
New drummer John Moen, of Malkmus's Jicks, while possessing perhaps a less fluid sense of rhythm and style than dearly departed Rachel Blumberg, is nonetheless an impressive and powerful player, a worthy addition to the band. And, was probably the most entertaining person on stage last night. His antics during "The Mariner's Revenge Song"--sitting on the floor, generally thrashing about, then running increasingly sloppy circles around the tom that he was beating with a mallet and a tambourine--were hilarious until I realized, with a growing sense of awe, "holy fuck, he hasn't missed a single beat in the midst of all this nonsense."
In stark contrast to openers Okkervil River, who seemed to have a million people on stage, none of whom were doing much of importance, every single member of the Decemberists is totally integral to the sound and the success of the band. Nate Query's skills on the upright bass make me weak in the knees; Chris Funk wields his impressive arsenal of instruments with a Zen-like effortlessness; if Jenny Conlee's accordion did not exist, it would be absolutely imperative to invent it; Petra Haden's violin gently heightens the drama of the narratives and her vocal stylings fill the harmony hole left by Blumberg's departure; and Mr. Meloy is, well, we all know my high, high regard for his talents. "The Engine Driver" may well be one of the best songs he's written yet, with "On the Bus Mall" running a close second.
It was a great night of great songs and great energy and great feelings. Oh, and did I mention they played the entire fucking Tain as an encore? It's one of those things that just makes me want to pass out every time I hear it, it's so huge and so good.
In other Decemberists news, Colin posted a note on the official site today, giving updated details on the Great Instrument Recovery Effort of Aught Five and giving thanks for the monetary donations that have rolled in after the theft, and Pitchfork announced that the Decemberists will be part of the lineup for the inaugural Intonation Music Festival in Chicago this summer.
I'm also turning into one of those limited edition silkscreen concert poster people, and purchased a gorgeous one last night designed and printed by Ryan Nole at Kangaroo Press. Rawk.
EDIT: My sources (read: grad students) have informed me that Moen was actually sick as a dog during the show that night. He, apparently, went directly to the hotel after the show rather than hanging out at the afterparty where Jenny and Chris were spinning from their iPods. Dude, somebody get that motherfucker some vitamin C or Pepto Bismol or something and let me know when he's better--I want to see what he's capable of then.
New drummer John Moen, of Malkmus's Jicks, while possessing perhaps a less fluid sense of rhythm and style than dearly departed Rachel Blumberg, is nonetheless an impressive and powerful player, a worthy addition to the band. And, was probably the most entertaining person on stage last night. His antics during "The Mariner's Revenge Song"--sitting on the floor, generally thrashing about, then running increasingly sloppy circles around the tom that he was beating with a mallet and a tambourine--were hilarious until I realized, with a growing sense of awe, "holy fuck, he hasn't missed a single beat in the midst of all this nonsense."
In stark contrast to openers Okkervil River, who seemed to have a million people on stage, none of whom were doing much of importance, every single member of the Decemberists is totally integral to the sound and the success of the band. Nate Query's skills on the upright bass make me weak in the knees; Chris Funk wields his impressive arsenal of instruments with a Zen-like effortlessness; if Jenny Conlee's accordion did not exist, it would be absolutely imperative to invent it; Petra Haden's violin gently heightens the drama of the narratives and her vocal stylings fill the harmony hole left by Blumberg's departure; and Mr. Meloy is, well, we all know my high, high regard for his talents. "The Engine Driver" may well be one of the best songs he's written yet, with "On the Bus Mall" running a close second.
It was a great night of great songs and great energy and great feelings. Oh, and did I mention they played the entire fucking Tain as an encore? It's one of those things that just makes me want to pass out every time I hear it, it's so huge and so good.
In other Decemberists news, Colin posted a note on the official site today, giving updated details on the Great Instrument Recovery Effort of Aught Five and giving thanks for the monetary donations that have rolled in after the theft, and Pitchfork announced that the Decemberists will be part of the lineup for the inaugural Intonation Music Festival in Chicago this summer.
I'm also turning into one of those limited edition silkscreen concert poster people, and purchased a gorgeous one last night designed and printed by Ryan Nole at Kangaroo Press. Rawk.
EDIT: My sources (read: grad students) have informed me that Moen was actually sick as a dog during the show that night. He, apparently, went directly to the hotel after the show rather than hanging out at the afterparty where Jenny and Chris were spinning from their iPods. Dude, somebody get that motherfucker some vitamin C or Pepto Bismol or something and let me know when he's better--I want to see what he's capable of then.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Piss
Shit, damn, hell. The $35 Lollapalooza tickets are sold out already.
But, I can't tell if that means there is a special reserve of additional, more expensive tickets that will be made available at a later date, or if those of us who had better things to do than jump online at midnight last night or first thing this morning are actually just plain old screwed.
Little help here? Anybody know anything about the situation that I don't?
But, I can't tell if that means there is a special reserve of additional, more expensive tickets that will be made available at a later date, or if those of us who had better things to do than jump online at midnight last night or first thing this morning are actually just plain old screwed.
Little help here? Anybody know anything about the situation that I don't?
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Geek-o-Meter
Oh, brutha! My geek-o-meter is on overload. Whereas before I likely would have declined, in polite company (or on the internet), to reveal the true degree of my excitement about the forthcoming movie version of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, now I have no choice but to, proudly and defiantly, push my glasses as far up the bridge of my nose as they'll go. For I have just discovered that my boy Neil Hannon, lead singer and songwriter of the Divine Comedy, has provided vocals for two songs featured on the soundtrack. Not only this, but Neil's frequent (and gifted) collaborator Joby Talbot has written the score. You can understand my conflicted feelings here. "Downplay, for coolness's sake, what a fan-girl I am or preach the gospel of Hannonomics?"
I choose to preach.
(Coming soon to Wrestling Entropy: twelve-sided dice and Renaissance fair costumes!!!)
I choose to preach.
(Coming soon to Wrestling Entropy: twelve-sided dice and Renaissance fair costumes!!!)
Monday, April 04, 2005
April Deluge
So much going on.
The pope. Ah, the sweet little pope. My sadness is not quite religious in origin; it's more the general sadness of the loss of any major cultural icon. The fact that he's a Polish cultural icon only adds to the poignancy. (Gotsa represent for my people.) I've had this picture hanging on my refrigerator for about a year now (thanks, Benji), but now it's also a little bittersweet in addition to being fucking hilarious.
One of the high points of watching the Final Four on Saturday night was seeing the ad for CBS's Elvis miniseries. This, in and of itself, wouldn't have been terribly noteworthy for me but for the fact that it happens to star one of the most outrageously gorgeous humans on the planet, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers (not to be confused, of course, with John Rhys-Davies, of Lord of the Rings fame--though it would be funny to see him digitally imposed into the Brian Slade costumes in Velvet Goldmine). My only connection to Elvis is from having edited this book, but I will be GLUED to my television on May 8 and 11.
Go Illini!
Since I am generally averse to large crowds of people and thus not particularly into the idea of attending gi-normous music festivals like Coachella, Bumbershoot, and Bonnaroo, I paid absolutely no attention to last week's Pitchfork headline celebrating the return of Lollapalooza. Well, I made a prompt one-eighty about that particular irrational prejudice when Giddy took the time to explain to me that the festival will be held only in Chicago, over the weekend of July 23 and 24, and that tickets will go on sale this Thursday (April 7) for thirty-five freaking dollars for BOTH days. (That's 70 bands at $0.50 each.) The official web site limits you to two tickets per credit card, but...well, I've got three credit cards...maybe, as CTA suggested, I'll be able to parlay a few "extra" tickets into a few "extra" months of rent this fall....
Tom Stoppard's Travesties at the Court Theatre is stunning. It runs until April 24, and I would highly recommend it to anyone with a passion for theater and literature and history and general intellectual yummy goodness. It will make your brain buzz and hum.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
